Tuesday, 23 September 2014

A Poem, Buried

It came to me
A poem.
Crept into my 
Surfaced in the 
Softly caressing
With a lover's touch.
I remember smiling
Then shushing it.
It faded.
(Slept on, with me!)
Then why did I feel
A heaviness
A hurt
Singeing, searing
Under my eyelids
When I woke?
Why do my eyes
Seek it?
Why do I feel 
That crushing
Sense of loss?
I buried a poem
In the soft loam
Of lost words.
Weary words that dropped
Overworked, but under-used
Heavy with nuance
Staggering, weighed with 
Too much meaning.
Lost thoughts, groping 
For expression
Mourn that poem.
Other poems come
Squeeze like tears 
Through ink
Asking to fill the void. 
I give them space
And try to flatter myself.
Attempt to smile
And live. 
In vain. 
For, it now comes to me.
I am that poem
I lost. 
22 September, 2014
Would you believe this crept through eyelids a few nights ago, and left; revisited during invigilation time, yesterday morning. Too nonsensical, surreal maybe. But a goosebumpy personal favourite for me, now.

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